


impossible things

by leetheshark



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Season/Series 03, the real impossible thing was finishing this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 06:49:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13782048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark
Summary: Some part of Victor has always loved Henry.





	impossible things

Victor was weary.

He stared at the moonlight on the wall in front of him as he lay in bed, hoping for sleep.

Sleep was difficult—maybe impossible—but Victor could not do anything else, now. He was to follow Henry’s lead. Henry was brilliant and cared for Victor deeply; these things Victor knew, and they reassured him.

Victor thought of Henry as he lay there, unmoving but for the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

Where Henry used to be like fire, he was mostly marble, now. He said he had learned to control his emotions. But he had not learned to repress them. Victor wanted to reach inside him and feel what was left.

And what was left of Victor?

Henry learned to control his emotions, while Victor let his emotions control him, and he briefly wondered if Henry’s path was the right one.

Footsteps sounded in the darkness, then, and Victor’s heart seized. He knew Henry was here, and after a moment, he remembered it.

With effort, he quieted his fear and lifted his head to see the face of his oldest friend. He held a lantern that bathed his face in yellow light.

"I couldn't sleep," Henry said. "I both hoped and feared you shared my predicament." His small grin warmed Victor.

Henry had come to check on Victor. Sometime in the evening, it had started to storm, and Victor offered Henry a spare bed so as not to send him away into the cold, wet night.

Victor knew Henry preferred to be self-reliant, and would have denied anyone else, but he hoped Henry would take his offer for what it was: a plea for companionship. He hoped Henry wanted to stay as much as Victor wanted him there. Henry did.

Victor had argued with Henry that it wasn’t his priority, but the need for a friend filled his heart and had him reaching out despite himself. The weather had since quieted, but Henry had stayed.

"You're in luck," Victor said, with a sort of jovial self-deprecation he once used with Henry often. "I can't remember the last time I slept well."

Henry's grin fell. "I'm sorry to hear that, old friend." He stepped closer, placing the lantern on Victor's nightstand and letting it illuminate his face from below. Victor watched him.

"I am accustomed to it," Victor sighed.

"Is it not incredible, how we become accustomed to the most terrible things?"

Victor knew Henry was no longer talking about Victor's own unhealthy habits.

A grim moment passed before Henry spoke again. “Do you remember, Victor, how we used to crowd in each other’s beds late at night to pass those long, sleepless hours?”

“Yes,” Victor said. “Of course.” He remembered it vividly. He once spent countless nights lying shoulder-to-shoulder with Henry in the dim lamplight of their room, talking and smoking until the sun came up or until one of them nodded off. They were sweet memories. Victor had not thought to miss them until now.

"May I?" Henry asked. Victor nodded and shuffled backward to give Henry space as he sat upon the bed. Its metal frame creaked violently.

Lying on their sides, they just barely fit.

It made Victor smile and took him back. With the warmth of Henry’s body beside him and the extra weight of Henry in his bed, Victor almost felt as if the last five years hadn’t passed at all.

Almost. “I’m sorry, Henry.” There was nothing unkind in Henry’s gaze, but Victor felt scrutinized nonetheless. 

It was a bitter subject. Losing touch with Henry was nowhere near Victor’s biggest regret, but it hurt him to think about.

“It’s alright,” Henry sighed. “It hurt, yes, but I understand. You were consumed by your work. I know what that’s like.”

“Tell me about yours,” Victor said. “Your work.” The anxious Victor from just days ago would not have cared beyond what he needed to save Lily and, in a way, himself. But now, Victor had calmed enough to enjoy Henry’s company, and he wondered if listening to Henry tell his tales might ease the burden on his heart.

So Henry talked of his work. He talked of where he went after he left Cambridge. He talked of how he secured his position at Bedlam, and of how he developed his serum.

And when he talked of chemistry, which Victor had not studied like Henry had, it recalled memories of Henry reading his textbooks to Victor aloud, which he sometimes did to calm his temper when it was too late at night to do anything else.

Victor thought of other times. He thought of the many times Henry cried himself to sleep, and of the few times Victor comforted him, if he didn’t push Victor away. He thought of holding Henry while Henry cried against his shoulder and it seemed further away than time could account for. He thought of the smaller touches, too: the everyday closeness that showed Victor that he truly had a friend. Victor had not realized how much he missed this, either.

Henry hadn’t left behind the physical closeness. As he talked to Victor, he touched Victor like no time had passed. Victor still felt the barrier of time, but as he listened to Henry’s voice, he also felt it fading away.

Henry’s voice was calming. Victor found himself drifting in and out of feelings he had not felt in a long time: feelings that made him foolish, but brave. And so, he did something he thought about once or twice in school, something that never quite crossed the boundary into reality—after what his life had become of late, Victor found that boundary hazier every day.

He shifted forward and brought his face close to Henry's. He gave Henry time to react—to move away, or to leave him if that was what Henry wanted—but Henry did not move. His voice had fallen into silence, and he watched Victor with wide, inquisitive eyes. Moving forward, still, Victor slipped his eyes shut and brushed Henry's lips with his own. Henry's face was warm, his lips chapped. Only after a moment did Victor move his mouth, softly kissing Henry's lips before pulling away.

Abashed, Victor opened his eyes and looked up at Henry. The enormity of his action began to creep into his heavy heart.

"Victor?" Henry spoke. His voice was quiet. In it, Victor heard emotion, but he could not tell what kind.

Victor nodded, his eyes blown wide. "Henry," he said.

Victor supposed that in Henry's silent question lay the words, _Did you just kiss me?,_ Victor's response being _yes;_ or, _Why did you kiss me?,_ to which Victor's response was either _I don't know_ or _I love you._

"Victor," Henry said again, more firmly this time, and seized Victor by his shoulders. Victor tensed, fearing the worst.

Henry had been angry as long as Victor had known him, though rarely with Victor, and only when, Victor felt, he deserved it.

Victor supposed he deserved it now.

But instead of being hit, or even just shouted at, Victor found himself being kissed hard. He hummed softly as he processed the feeling. His head buzzed, and Henry’s lips were so, so sweet. Henry pulled away and Victor missed him instantly.

Victor looked, awestruck, into Henry’s eyes. The feeling of having kissed Henry lingered, strange and unfamiliar, on his lips.

Henry spoke first, breathless. "Oh, Victor. I didn’t expect this from you. Do you want this, truly?”

Victor responded instantly, “Yes. Don’t you?”

“Yes,” Henry said, as if it were obvious, and kissed Victor again.

A moment passed. Victor discovered and learned Henry’s mouth. Henry’s kiss was nothing like his guarded self.

It was raw. Real. And Victor realized he had found Henry deep inside that stone-cold shell he wore.

Henry pulled away, staying close and stroking Victor’s cheekbone with his thumb. There was something rare and tender in his eyes.

Being so close to Henry was intoxicating. Having Henry, Victor could not imagine being without him and not wanting.

"You're beautiful, Victor," Henry said. "I always thought so."

"Have you always wanted me, Henry?" 

Victor saw the answer in Henry’s eyes and suddenly ached for Henry in a different way; he could only imagine how it must have hurt Henry to keep such a secret.

Henry said, instead, "I never thought it possible. I was content with your friendship."

Instead of apologizing like he almost wanted to, Victor teased. Henry’s presence made him bold. It always had. “Impossible doesn't mean you can't want. You of all people should know." 

"Me? You."

At Cambridge, they were much the same, chasing their wild, shared, impossible dream.

"Yes." Victor grinned. "Perhaps." And then he remembered he was no longer at Cambridge. And he remembered his work since, and that some impossible things were better left unexplored. Except, perhaps, this one.

Fisting his hands in the borrowed nightshirt Henry wore, Victor surged forward and captured Henry’s lips again.

When he kissed Henry, everything other than Henry ceased to exist.

Victor was fine with this.

When Henry’s kiss grew hungry, Victor was fine with this, too. He thought, in that moment, that he would give Henry his entire self if Henry wanted.

Henry’s body was hot and solid against Victor’s. His senses were flooded with the scent of Henry so close, the taste of him on Victor’s lips, the promise of his arousal, hard against Victor’s hip.

Victor found that he wanted, too.

Henry’s hand had gone to Victor’s hip, thumb rubbing circles into the flesh through Victor’s shirt, almost hard enough to bruise. Victor didn’t mind it—he enjoyed Henry’s rough touch—but he wanted even more to feel Henry’s hand against his bare skin.

He took his hand from where he had been threading his fingers through Henry’s hair and covered Henry’s with his own.

Henry flinched away at first, thinking probably that Victor had changed his mind and did not want Henry’s touch after all, but he soon relaxed under Victor’s reassuring grip.

For a moment, Victor simply felt Henry’s hand. His fingers slotted between Henry’s knuckles as he held Henry’s palm against him.

Slowly, and not quite kissing Henry but breathing softly against his mouth, Victor slid the hand lower, to the strip of exposed skin between his shirt and pajama bottoms. Henry’s breath stuttered as his fingertips brushed Victor’s naked skin. Victor planted Henry’s hand firmly on his bare hip and slid it upward, under his shirt.

It was entirely new territory for Victor, who had never before been touched so tenderly. He suspected it was new territory for Henry as well.

“What do you want of me, Victor?” Henry spoke the words with caution, sounding breathless.

Victor blushed, but maintained his streak of boldness. “What would you give me?”

Without warning, Henry captured Victor’s lips in a surging kiss. “Anything.” His lips barely left Victor’s as he spoke; he returned to them instantly.

“Touch me,” Victor whispered against Henry’s lips, and Henry hungrily obeyed.

His palm trailed fire over Victor’s hot skin—his slim waist, the sparse hairs over his chest, the sensitive small of his back. Victor trembled at his touch.

And then, Henry’s lips slipped away from Victor’s mouth and he asked, searching in Victor’s eyes, “Why don’t you take it off?”

Victor could not respond quickly enough. As he rose from Henry and pulled the shirt over his head, it barely crossed his mind that no one—not even Lily—had ever wanted to look at him like this, or done it. That he had never been naked like this with anyone else.

The chill in the room gave him goosebumps, but Henry’s touch warmed him.

Henry’s lips settled over Victor’s collarbone as he pulled Victor close by the small of his back. Victor tangled his fingers in Henry’s hair, moaning softly at the entirely unfamiliar sensation of Henry’s mouth on his skin.

Henry mouthed at Victor’s neck for a few moments before kissing softly down his sternum.

“Victor,” he whispered sharply against Victor’s chest, “that _hurts._ ”

Victor had not realized he had been tugging on Henry’s hair. He apologized softly and, feeling the need to hold onto something, gripped the back of Henry’s nightshirt with both hands instead.

It was then that a thought sprung to his mind that had him nearly shivering with want.

“Henry,” he gasped, “stop for a moment.” When Henry brought his face back near Victor’s, Victor kissed him sweetly and sincerely before proposing, “Would you undress for me?”

Henry looked into Victor’s eyes for a long moment before answering. Austerely, he asked, “You want that?”

“Yes.” Victor wanted it badly.

“Fine,” Henry nodded. “Yes.” He took Victor’s face in his hand and kissed him hard, once—and, because the bed was too cramped, he untangled himself from Victor and rose from it, standing on the floorboards.

Half out of reach of the lantern’s light, Henry undressed. Victor watched raptly as he bared his thighs, his waist, his back.

As the nightshirt came over Henry’s head, it disturbed his hair, and he shook his head softly so that it fell back into place. Victor watched the muscles of his back move and suddenly ached to touch.

Once Henry sat back down upon the edge of the mattress, he began to turn again toward Victor, but Victor stilled him with a hand on the small of his back.

Victor said nothing, and Henry did not move. He watched Victor from over his shoulder, and when Victor rose to his knees and knelt behind him, bringing his chest flush against Henry’s back, Henry let his head fall forward and savored the feeling. He sighed as Victor brushed his hair to the side with gentle fingertips and pressed a soft kiss to the back of his neck.

Victor kissed the shell of Henry’s ear next, making him shiver, and when he gazed over Henry’s shoulder at his body, there was something intoxicating in that first look, in knowing Henry like this.

Never having seen so much of Henry’s skin, Victor was struck with the thought that it was beautiful.

Some part of him probably always thought so.

“Do you mind this?” Victor asked as he put his hand on Henry’s waist.

“No,” Henry said. Victor felt his abdomen move as his breathing quickened. “It’s fine—good.”

Slowly, Victor slid his hand over Henry’s side, cupping it over Henry’s firm breast before wandering down over his stomach, following with his fingertips the trail of soft hairs there.

As he came near to where Henry’s want stood between his thighs, Henry tensed, and Victor stilled.

“No one’s ever touched you like this.” Victor meant it as a question, but as it left his lips, he knew that it was true.

Victor could not see Henry’s face, turned now away from him, but he could see the clench of Henry’s jaw. “Does that surprise you?"

“No.” Victor paused. He hadn’t meant to offend. “Do you want me to?”

Henry’s face softened. His entire body seemed to relax against Victor’s. “Yes,” he said.

It was more exploratory than anything else when Victor cupped his hand over Henry, just feeling him. Henry gasped softly at the touch.

Victor then skimmed fingertips over the length of him before taking him fully in hand and stroking, once, slowly.

Henry’s breath came in heavy pants. Victor noticed that his eyes were shut. He continued with long, unhurried strokes, wringing soft moans from Henry with every movement of his wrist. He kissed Henry’s neck as he worked, feeling sweat against his lips. It mingled with his own saliva as he worshiped Henry’s skin with his mouth.

Victor felt weak. His cock, cradled against the small of Henry’s back, tented the thin fabric of his pajama bottoms. Everywhere Henry’s skin touched his, he was on fire.

Victor’s trance broke when he felt a large hand cover his. Suddenly, Henry was turning and kissing Victor deeply. His tongue felt like velvet. Victor clung to him.

“Take these off,” he breathed. His hand was on the waist of Victor’s pajama bottoms. There wasn’t a flicker of uncertainty in his dark eyes.

It was an _order,_ and it stoked something fierce in Victor’s heart.

He kicked off his remaining clothing and met Henry again on his knees.

Henry’s cheeks were flushed. Sweat glistened across his cheekbones. A few strands of hair stuck to his neck.

Victor barely had time to map Henry’s face in the dim light—it was a face he had seen a thousand times before, but Henry was both old and new, familiar and something to be discovered still—before Henry was pressing him down into the mattress. He parted Victor’s thighs, strong hands on sensitive, wanting flesh, and climbed between them, bringing his body, finally, flush against Victor’s.

When Henry’s cock brushed Victor’s, and his lips brushed Victor’s mouth, Victor could not remember ever feeling so good.

He moaned softly and dug his fingers into Henry’s hips. His own small thrusts encouraged Henry’s, and soon he was drowning in the feeling of Henry against him, undone.

Henry’s lips hovered over Victor’s. Their breathing came out of rhythm, filling Victor’s ears along with the more distant creaking of his bed.

When Victor tangled his hands in Henry’s hair, he was conscious not to pull.

Henry came with a gasp against Victor’s lips. His tensed and rode out his climax against Victor’s body, spilling onto his skin.

He panted hard as he came down from it, and when he met Victor’s eyes, Victor let out a small whimper that meant something like _please._

Henry moved off of him, settling down by his side. He tilted Victor’s jaw to kiss him before running his palm down Victor’s chest and stomach and, finally, finding Victor’s hardness and taking him in hand.

Victor was high-strung with arousal; it wasn’t long before he was hiding his face in Henry’s neck and spilling against his hand. 

After, Henry pulled Victor half on top of him with an arm snug around his waist. He kissed Victor and Victor yielded easily, wanting nothing more in the world than this.

The storm had picked back up. Victor’s heartbeat was slowing. The world came back to him, and for once, it felt peaceful. He rested his head on Henry’s shoulder. Henry hugged him close.

“Where do we go from here?” Henry asked after a few moments passed. Something in his voice told Victor that he feared the answer.

Victor answered honestly, “I don’t know.”

“What do you want?”

Victor realized then that he had more potential to hurt Henry than he had probably ever had before. He also realized that he didn’t want to.

Henry spoke again. “Lily?”

Victor thought about it. Though he had once been sure that Lily was crucial to his happiness, he now wondered if he needed her at all. “You said your serum couldn’t make her love me.”

“That’s correct.”

“Will I lose you if I try?”

“As a friend, no. As a lover, yes.” He paused. “I won’t compete for you.”

“Then… perhaps I won’t.” Saying it was freeing. Victor wondered if he really would be able to let go.

Henry nodded, and said softly, “I’m glad.”

It was easy not to think about her, resting in Henry’s embrace.

Victor did not talk any more, and neither did Henry. When Victor finally managed to fall asleep, he let Henry’s body warm him through the night.

**Author's Note:**

> [hit me up on tumblr](http://geislieb.tumblr.com)  
>   
>  looking for a beta for future penny dreadful fics  
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